


Stupid Fairytales

by maddaddam



Series: Jeanmarco Week 2016 [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, High School, M/M, nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddaddam/pseuds/maddaddam
Summary: Jean really hates his English class. But he really likes his English tutor/best friend....not that he'd ever tell him that.Jeanmarco Week 2016 Day One: Fairytale





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh so Noot and I are sort of collaborating on JM this week this year and we've both kinda been freaking out over each other's stuff so this has been a real adventure! Anyway this entire drabble is based on some of [Noot's art](http://pololotp.tumblr.com/post/151902681067/jeanmarco-week-day-1-fairytalesmagic-ive) that is most definitely essential for reading.

Jean had never liked English class. It was boring and repetitive and he couldn’t understand how reading stories about fictional kings and queens was going to help him anywhere outside of Mr. Ackerman’s third-story classroom. He also couldn’t understand how Marco tolerated it. 

“I mean it’s bullshit!” He says, waving his hands by his sides as the pair walks down the sidewalk, “I followed all the requirements, I even turned it in on time, and Ackerman still gives me a D?” 

“Hmm,” Marco hums beside him, eyes crinkling in the corners but never leaving the pavement as they head away from school. Jean wants to punch him for it. 

“C’mon, Marco, you know it’s true,” he goes on. Marco rolls his eyes imperceptibly but Jean continues anyway, pretending not to have seen. 

“Jean, you dedicated an entire paragraph to how much you thought Shakespeare was gay, of course Mr. Ackerman gave you a D,” his friend says. Jean pouts in annoyance, one hand combing through his hair relentlessly as he contemplates his friend’s betrayal. 

“He totally was,” he grumbles under his breath, Marco chuckles. His sense of humor doesn’t stop him from scolding Jean, though. 

“You were supposed to write about the incompatibility of love and militarism in Othello,” the taller boy says between muffled giggles. _Easy for him to say_ , Jean thinks to himself as they turn down another suburban street lined with identical houses and pristine lawns. _He got an A on his essay_. 

“Yeah, well,” he kicks a rock into the wheels of a beaten up Subaru on the side of the road, “that would’ve been boring as fuck.” 

“I’m sorry Mr. Ackerman didn’t design the assignment with your interests in mind, Jean,” Marco sighs, simultaneously leaning down to pick up the rock Jean punted and tossing it back into the rock garden it had managed to escape from. Fuckin goody two-shoes, Jean thinks at the sight of his friend’s courtesy before letting out a long, exaggerated groan. 

The pair is approaching the house now and they halt their conversation to compensate. Marco reaches his hand into the back pockets of his jeans, rummaging around for the key he knows is in there before pulling it out and inserting it into the rusted lock on the door. His friend waits a few feet behind on the steps leading up to the bungalow, purposefully giving Marco enough space to open the door before ushering Jean inside. Jean knows how much he hates being crowded. 

“Mom and the twins should be out for the rest of the day, so we can spread out wherever you’d like,” Marco says once both boys are standing in the front hallway of the bungalow. Jean takes a deep breath, drawing in the familiar scent of his friend’s home and taking in the the comforting sight of the house he’s been visiting since middle school. 

“Your room is fine,” he says to the homeowner, who smiles and kicks off his shoes before leading Jean up the narrow and creaky stairs to his bedroom. Both boys throw their backpacks by the foot of the bed, the taller of the two sinking down into a tattered old beanbag in the corner while his friend flings himself face first onto the bed. They sigh in unison at the relief it brings, Jean running his hands through the tangled sheets and Marco kicking his legs back and forth playfully as he waits for the grump monster on the bed to return to conversation. 

Jean sighs, rolling onto his back with a dramatic _fwump_ that makes Marco smile. “I don’t wanna read this stupid book, Marco.” 

“It’s not stupid,” his friend scolds, but Jean is hardly listening to the rant he’s delivering because he’s too distracted playing with the piercing on his collarbone to care. _I hope it’s not infected_ , he wonders when twisting the little stud around between his thumb and forefinger stings just a bit. _I knew I shouldn’t have let Connie do it._

As if reading his mind, Marco speaks again. 

“It’s not infected, stop playing with it. If you keep touching it while it’s still new you’re gonna get dirt in it and then you’ll really be sorry.” 

“Pfft. What do you know,” Jean grumbles, dropping the stud nonetheless, “fucking prude.” 

“I know that touching an open wound increases the risk of infection,” Marco replies from the beanbag on the floor without lifting his head. His friend huffs. 

“ _And_ ,” the boy below him continues, “I know if it gets infected, your mom’s gonna find out that you got your collarbone pierced without telling her.” 

Jean stares at the ceiling as he contemplates Marco’s empty threat. He’d never actually tell the Kirschtein's about their son’s unprofessional body modification, but he’d sure as hell laugh at Jean’s misfortune if Jean’s mother ever found out about it. 

“I hate you,” the boy on the bed mumbles, still sliding down to the floor to face his friend nonetheless. Hearing Jean’s movement, Marco sits up in the beanbag and passes the other student his backpack, unzipping and reaching into his own once he’s done. 

“Mmm,” Marco pulls out a paperback book and a few highlighters from the depths of his bag, “is that why you’re asking me to help you with your English homework?” 

Jean mumbles something inaudible under his breath, pulling out the same paperback and a collection of crumpled papers from his own bag regardless of his distaste for the situation. Marco chuckles and they open their books together to begin the arduous reading assignment handed out earlier in the day. 

“This should be a lot easier for you than _Othello_ ,” the freckled boy says, pulling the cap off a purple highlighter and underlining something on the first page of his carefully maintained copy. Jean stares down at his own poorly cared for copy of the book and grimaces in disgust, some of the pages threatening to fall out. Slowly, but with all the broken-heartedness he can muster, he turns to face Marco and throws him the most pouty face he can manage. At first, Marco stares back, unamused at the display, but he eventually cracks under the pressure of his friend’s well practiced puppy-dog eyes. 

“Fine,” he sighs and shuffles closer to Jean on the floor, “I’ll read. But you better take notes, you big baby.” 

“Deal.” 

Marco clears his throat and flips back through the pages he’d skimmed until he comes to the very beginning. The first pages reads _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ in swirling, girlish script. Jean can’t help but roll his eyes. 

“Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour draws apace; four happy days bring in another moon: but, Oh, methinks, how slow this old moon wanes!” Marco begins, his voice steady and calming as he reads the story aloud. The boy besides him lets him speak, never interrupting, but also never taking the notes he promised earlier; instead letting Marco’s voice carry him into the story until he thinks he can see it playing out behind his eyelids. 

The two sit together for what seems like only minutes, lost in the tale together until it Jean finally cracks and begins his assault of cocky commentary. 

“Thou speak’st aright; I am that merry wanderer of the night. I jest to Oberon and make him smile-” Marco monologues before the interruption comes. 

“These fairies are so fucking stupid,” the perpetrator says, Marco rolls his eyes and closes the book on his lap. He figures they’ve done enough reading for now. 

“Well the fairies think you’re stupid, too,” he responds in irritation. 

“You’re stupid,” Jean grumbles back, punching the taller boy in the arm and crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Am not.” 

“You’re siding with the fucking fairies over your best friend!” Jean shouts, pushing Marco in the shoulder and forcing him to lose his balance until he ends up on his back on the floor. An indignant string of noises comes from his mouth once his back collides with the ground, but Jean ignores them as he clambers over his friend’s prone body. 

“I am not!” Marco cries, hands pinned to his sides while Jean straddles his hips to look into his wide eyes. 

“You totally are!” Jean laughs cruelly. He doesn’t let up on the grip he has on Marco’s wrists, though. 

“I’m not!” The boy beneath him squirms in an attempt to get away from his friend’s playful wrestling. Jean simply laughs at his attempt, knowing Marco could easily use his greater strength to throw him off if he really wanted to. 

“You’re being stupid,” he laughs. 

“ _You’re_ being stupid!” 

“You’re siding with fairies!” 

“ _You’re_ siding with fairies!” 

“ _You’re_ a fairy!” Jean shouts suddenly and the boy underneath him stops shifting just as quickly. Both hold their breath, waiting for an explanation that never comes. 

“....did - did you just call me a fairy?” Marco asks, voice cracking ever so slightly on the words escaping his lips. Jean wants to slap himself for the slip-up when he notices Marco’s eyes widening. 

“B-but a cute fairy! With butterfly wings or some shit!” he says, trying and failing to fix things as fast as he can because Marco’s still frozen underneath him and it’s getting really awkward really fast. “Not like the other way!” 

“Um….” Marco starts shifting again; Jean wishes he wouldn’t, so he climbs off his friend’s squirming body and scrambles to the other side of the cramped bedroom. 

“With little moth antennae or something!” he continues rambling, watching in fixated horror as Marco sits up and runs his hand through his mussed hair. Across the room, Jean begins to stir, lifting himself up on his elbows while Marco does the same. 

“Well,” Marco clears his throat and pulls himself up until he’s resting cross-legged, “if I’m a fairy, so are you.” Jean pouts in his friend’s direction. _I guess this is payback_ , he thinks to himself when Marco leans forward to continue. “With dragonfly wings.” His eyebrows wiggle playfully as he speaks and Jean really wants to punch him for it. 

“Fuck off,” Jean huffs back, tugging on the illicit stud in his collarbone as if to prove his point, “I’m punk rock incarnate, you jackass.” 

“And a little daisy dress!” The freckled boy across the room yells, pointing an enthusiastic finger at Jean and scrambling to get closer to his friend. 

“You shut your mouth!” Jean yells. He begins clambering towards Marco, almost threatening, but the freckled boy keeps going, laughing as he makes up obscure details about Jean’s fairy persona. 

“Aw Jean, you’d be so cute!” He giggles. “So little and adorable,” more giggles. Jean tries protesting, but it’s useless with the state Marco’s in. It’s impossible to get him to stop laughing once he starts. 

“I’m leaving,” he announces to the tiny room before standing and reaching for his backpack and books. Marco makes a futile attempt to reach out for his hand, but Jean shrugs him off and begins walking away as the boy on the ground collapses into a fit of giggles. 

“No,” he whines, clutching his stomach, “No, Jean don’t goooo.” 

“Nope. No, fuck no. Fuck Shakespeare, fuck English class, fuck you in particular,” Jean replies, walking down the stairs to the tune of Marco’s fading giggles. Eventually he reaches the bottom of the steps and pries open the front door, laughter and the sounds of his friend crawling around the bedroom floating down to him as he leaves. 

“See you tomorrow, jackass!” He shouts before closing the door behind him and starting the short walk from Marco’s home to his own down the street. As he walks, he thinks about their conversation, frowning in annoyance when he recalls the less…. _manly_ details. _I’m not a fairy, dammit. If I was anything, I’d be a fucking vampire. Or a demon. Something badass, for sure_ , he tells himself. 

But at the back of his mind, he can’t help imagining himself with dragonfly wings springing from his back. And he can’t help imagining his best friend with iridescent butterfly wings coming out of the freckled skin Jean knows lies between his shoulderblades. 

. 

.. 

… 

“‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ Who said it?,” Mr. Ackerman says to the class of bored high schoolers, his hands holding steadfast to the antiquated piece of chalk in his palm. Jean rolls his eyes at the uninteresting beginning to the day’s torture. He looks out the window to try and ease the tide of apathy growing in his gut, eyes scanning the suburban sprawl below the school for something remotely interesting. Unsurprisingly, the view brings his eyes in contact with the back of Marco’s head; one row to the left and two desks up from his own. He carefully examines his friend’s figure, finding it more interesting than the lecture taking place up front. 

As if sensing Jean’s eyes on him, Marco turns to face behind him and throws his friend a cocky smirk and an eyebrow wiggle. He even sticks his tongue out playfully when Jean doesn’t look away. 

“Kirschtein!” A voice calls from the front of the classroom, causing the boy to jolt in surprise. He sees Marco chuckling at him from the corner of his eye, damn him. 

“What?” He snaps. Mr. Ackerman raises his eyebrows, unimpressed, at the sass being thrown his way but continues anyway. 

“Who. Said. It,” the shorter man grinds out. 

“Hell if I know,” Jean grumbles back, prompting his teacher to roll his eyes and call on another classmate who answers the question correctly on Jean’s behalf. He’d feel grateful for the redirection of the attention, if the back of Marco’s giggling head wasn’t distracting him to begin with. 

Carefully, and shamelessly, Jean begins tracing the lines of his friend’s back with eyes, taking extra care to scan the sharp edges of his shoulderblades and the gentle slope of his shoulders. With nothing better to do, he can’t help himself from imagining a pair of beautiful butterfly wings sprouting from the space there. They’d be tinged in blue and green, lined with red veins and markings to match the hue of Marco’s shirt, he thinks. It isn’t long before Jean finds a pencil in his hand and his copy of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ beneath the lead. 

He begins with Marco, using the boy in front of him as reference while he sketches out the loose outline of his body. He adds in a pair of moth-like antennae he remembers telling his friend about the other day. He adds in a set of large but delicate wings, patterned and shaded just as he imagined them springing from Marco’s back. 

“ _If I’m a fairy, so are you. With dragonfly wings!_ ” Marco’s voice rings out in his head, Jean sighs. The drawing beneath his hands is good, but it needs something more. As grudging as he is to admit it, Marco looks weird without Jean by his side. 

So he adds himself in. A fairy just like Marco, but with dragonfly wings instead of butterfly. He feels slightly proud once he’s finished, a sense of accomplishment washing over him that distracts him until he misses the sound of the bell signalling the end of third period. 

“Whatcha doing?” Marco bumps his hip into Jean’s shoulder. Their next classes are right across the hall from each other, he must be waiting for Jean to get his head out of the clouds and walk with him. 

“Oh, uh,” Jean flounders and flails, trying to hide his doodling with his hands and a stack of miscellaneous papers. He’s pretty sure Marco’s not buying his frantic attempt to hide his girlish doodles, pretty sure that Marco’s already seen the dopey magical creatures adorning the margins of his book, but he lets them both pretend that they haven’t noticed anything. “I’m just getting ready for fourth period….what are you doing?” 

Marco hums, prying the pencils and papers from Jean’s hands carefully and filing them into his backpack. If it was anyone else, Jean would probably have their head on a stake for touching his shit, but it’s Marco and Jean’s pretty used to him organizing his stuff without asking or being asked. 

“I’m just imagining what you’d look like with a pair of fairy wings,” he hums again, voice suddenly dropping at least an octave and sounding way too close to Jean’s ear for comfort. 

“Oh my god, never speak to me again,” he says, standing and grabbing his backpack in one fluid motion before walking briskly out the door. Mr. Ackerman throws him a rather rude look as he passes, but it’s difficult to care when Marco’s still cackling wildly behind him. 

“Jeeaaan, please come back, I didn’t mean it,” the boy whines, still laughing while he runs to catch up with his friend who’s already making some pretty serious progress down the hall. “Jeeaan.” 

“Fuck no,” Jean says, picking up the pace. A pair of arms suddenly materialize around his waist and he tells himself it was probably pretty useless to run anyway. 

“ _Please_ , we’ll be fairies together,” Marco says, letting Jean walk forward awkwardly with the pair of freckled arms wrapped around his midsection. Some of the students snicker at the sight, but Marco clearly doesn’t care that he’s embarrassing the shit out of his friend. 

“That was the gayest thing you’ve ever said, Bodt,” Jean says. He still trudges towards his fourth period class, even though it’s getting harder and harder to walk with Marco weighing him down. He feels a mumbled answer against the back of his hoodie but at this point, he doesn’t care what it is. Jean just wants his suffering to end. 

“Alright, alright, we’re both fucking fairies now get your ass off me and go to class you sentimental goober,” he says and pulls the taller boy off him so they can separate. Marco willingly obliges. 

“Just remember Jean,” Marco calls out, walking backwards into the Geography classroom across the hall. “If I’m a fairy, you’re a fairy!” 

“Yeah, yeah. We’re both fucking fairies,” he grumps back, ducking into class before anyone in the crowded hallway recognizes him. Without meeting the eyes of any of his classmates, Jean takes a seat in the very back row and opens up his backpack to retrieve his copy of _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. The pictures inside are scanned carefully and with a great deal of begrudging admiration. 

That is, until a boy in front of him turns to stare at the work in Jean’s hands. 

“Is there a closet you need help getting out of, Kirschtein?” Eren says, green eyes locked onto the doodles running up the sides of his book. Jean holds out his middle finger for the shorter teen to examine instead. 

“Fuck off, Jaeger. It’s an inside joke.” 

“Mmm. And I’m the king of North Korea,” Eren flings back. 

“Shut up.” 

“C’mon man, just admit that you’re gay as hell for Marco and call it a day.” 

“T-that’s not Marco!” he sits up indignantly, surprised that his classmate figured it out so quickly when he’s still pretty sure Eren doesn’t have the IQ to tie his own shoes. “That could be anyone!” 

The shorter boy turns around fully in his desk chair to examine the picture in question. “Hmm see, I dunno about that. I don’t know very many people who can pull off the butterfly wing - freckles combo,” he replies. Jean yanks the book back from Eren’s grubby little hands. 

“It’s not Marco,” he says again. Eren rolls his eyes and turns around in his seat to pay attention to the teacher up front, Jean kicks the underside of his chair in retaliation. At the back of his mind, he realizes that Eren might just be right about the whole freckles-and-butterflies combination, but like hell is he admitting to it. And like hell is he going to admit to his long-standing crush on Marco. 

The image of his friend smiles up at him, perfect freckles drawing Jean’s focus in until he feels like he can’t take his eyes off doodle-Marco’s face. The longer he stares at it, the tighter the squeezing feeling in his chest becomes. And he can’t tell if it’s because he detests Eren for being right, or if the squeezing is coming from his feelings toward the freckled face in front of him. He’d like to think it’s the former. 

Jean closes the book with a disgruntled sigh. _Stupid English, stupid Jaeger, stupid feelings_ , he thinks to himself, shoving the paperback into the depths of his backpack. _I’m never reading this thing again_. 

“Oh hey, Jean!” An upsettingly familiar voice suddenly calls to him from the very front of the classroom. He looks up and locks eyes with the freckled face he’d been staring at not too long ago, a faint blush quickly heating up his cheeks as he takes in the boy currently sticking half his body through the open door of his room. “Glad I caught you before the bell rang. Don’t forget about the reading assignment for tonight, ‘kay?” 

“Right,” he feels himself mumble but he’s not sure how the words escape his lips when he can’t even feel his face. 

“You’ll come to my place, won’t you?” Marco says. He keeps tossing worried looks over his shoulder, as if he really shouldn’t be doing this right now. Jean checks the time on his phone. Less than a minute before the bell rings and Marco gets marked tardy for not being in his seat. Maybe he really _shouldn’t_ be doing this. 

“Of course,” he says and Marco smiles. Above their heads, the bell rings with almost frightening vigor, prompting the taller of the two boys to sprint from the room to his own class across the hall. Jean laughs at Marco’s panicked expression, but turns his attention away from his friend’s misfortune to focus on the class ahead. 

After a very boring introduction to the Korean War, Jean snaps. One hand steadying himself on the desk, the other reaching for the book in his backpack, Jean manages to pull out _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ without too much trouble. He flips to a page somewhere in the middle and stares down at the drawing he both admires and hates. 

_Ok, fine_ , he tells himself himself, _I’ll read it. I’ll read the stupid book_. He thinks back to the boy across the hall and smiles. 

_I’ll read the stupid book for Marco._


End file.
